Sometimes I'm a bit lucky. Sometimes I end up in places I completely had no intention of ending up, but I should have ended up there had I actually planned it.
The thing is I knew I was going to Dharamsala (DharamSHala) to hang out with some Tibetans and that McLeod Ganj existed somewhere around there (I figured it was walking distance or something of the like) but sometimes that "Oh, it'll be alright" thing i do is...hm... wrong.
McLeod Ganj is actually part of Northern Dharamshala and is 9 km apart (eh..north) from lower Dharamsala. And they are very different worlds.
McCleod Ganj is the actual home of the big DL, his holiness, and is rather more pleasant than the lower lands.
So.
On this early chilly morning after a night of endless headache (and mild nausea once we hit those Himalayan foothill curves of road) i had the good fortune of ending up in McCleod Ganj.
I hadn't even realized this until after I found a room to stay in and began breakfast actually. I was studying maps, guide book copies, and overhearing some conversation while slurping down some Tibetan tsampa.
I was precisely where I wanted to be.
but of course.
I had two days here and the game plan included eating as many different Tibetan dishes as I could, meditation, cooking class, buying something called "Green Tara" (I came to discover what this was exactly), and yoga.
I was pumped, if a bit sleepy, and energized by a tasty breakfast as I set out to explore this mini-Tibetan world.
it was very innocent really. a bit child-like. i was to learn and learn lightly - not much else. i say this because tibet is one of those 'issues' we - as westerners, an average westerner anyway - hear about enough to note that its another shitty thing about the world - another shitty thing to go right up there on the shelf with all the other shitty things in the world and not really thought more.
i had (nor have) no (any) intention of saving anyone or anything, certainly not entire people or country.
really - ive long since lost that desire to 'save the world'.
im in a 'saving myself' period - if you will.
and im okay with that.
but i will say. in advance of the actual events of this story -that something did hit me. i say hit, not touch, because it was a loud and assertive reach into some detached corner of me. i, who rarely panics, and prefers to stand aside.
and this is all an indulgence, i beg forgiveness for distracting from the flow of my silly stories, but most people dont think this of me. because i volunteer and do little things here and there. but generally, my level of involvement, true leadership, is minimal. people find even what i do to be worthwhile and i wont negate it, but i know, perhaps in that detached corner of me, that its not enough and some others only find it enough because they function from a different perspective. of what is worthwhile in the course of life, in the use of their time.
nothing is right or wrong here.
and i apologize for any unclarity. (i need time to consider certain thoguhts and elaborate)
but to each her own. and we all see the simplest daily functions differently.
yet im rarely satisfied.
there is always more to learn, more to see, and certainly - certainly - more to do.
the line comes when one 'helps' out of guilt (whether fully acknowledged or not, guilt can be rather subtle) or out of genuine interest.
of true want.
and i firmly believe we are all selfish in the end.
but at the end of this day. this first day in mccleod ganj.
i wanted to be here.
it was very simple. i just wanted to be here.
talk with them. learn anything they were willing to teach me.
and sit in their presence.
it might sound simplistic (and mildly ridiculous? or cliche - where is the greater sin i wonder) to word it in this way, but it is so.
and i wanted these things not because i found them superior or supernatural in any sense.
we sometimes view a culture as collectively inspirational and forget they are simply people, capable of all that every human being is capable of in this world, both for good and bad.
and they have daily needs and wants of their own.
with no obligation at all to indulge mine or those of anything other outsider.
but i -felt good-.
i felt good. i felt light.
for just a bit and i had not even realized it until the day after. truly processed it.
my rational mind had already been curious, as im nearly curious about every damned little thing, but it isnt often something truly grips the other bits of me - long enough to keep me thinking on it for days to come.
but i write this days after, on a train to agra and tears have the irritating habit of appearing, and i would give anything to sit in another english conversation class.. even just an hour.
to feel that lightness again.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Goodbye to Delhi
I am not a woman who panics. Truly. I function relatively low-key in most any situation. I suck it up, hold it in or don’t bother reacting at all. So that on this occasion I was a nervous shaking hyperventilating (or maybe that was the running) mess – was something of a novelty. Like trying on an expensive pair of shoes I had no intention of buying (and didn’t even like all that much).
“It’s okay, no worries, it’s okay! Would you like some chai?”
And there. The bucket of cold water over my head. The magic word.
Chai.
The world could be exploding around you. Hell may be coming to earth, but there is (apparently) always time to sit-
and have some chai.
And so I sat.
and had some chai.
And while I sipped my cares away the gentleman who ran Gurnam tours made a phone call or two, did lots of talking to people in a language I have no way of understanding, but perhaps, someday, would like to. He scribbled a little note, pulled out some cash, handed it to his comrade and shooed me to a rather nice vehicle (where the cushions still happened to be intact).
I had no idea what was going on. I asked, but failed to obtain an adequate response and yet I was being taken by strange men in a rather secure vehicle to some unknown location.
There are some points where you just hope for the best. I suppose it’s called optimism. Let’s pretend anyway.
And in the end I was dropped off on the roadside, left with some motley crue of Australians, a rather muscular Japanese man wearing a face mask, and an older local couple. It was some comfort that I wasn’t alone. We were all apparently waiting for a bus to take us away, but no idea as to where this bus was or when it would arrive. And leading us was a skinny man in cowboy boots (who also happened to receive the money and note from my previous guardian). I spent an hour sitting on the sidewalk staring at these boots wondering what they were made of. Alligator? Snake? Some sort of reptile, surely. The stupidest things occupy your mind sometimes.
A bus did appear eventually, but cowboy boot boy informed us there were no seats to be had and another stop was in order.
An Australian piped up, “And where would that stop be exactly.”
And that hand swirl-wave and boot boy ran off, “come! Come!”
Off we went through the metro (where I was shoved into the armpit of muscular mask-wearing Japanese man – who really did have some appealing definition I must say- and the female half of the older local couple held onto my shirt so that we would not lose one another though I was rather tempted to hold on to her thick braid (think rapunzel – in squat chubby Indian form) and then a caravan of rickshaws through northern Delhi (which led to a fascinating conversation with cowboy boot boy where I was finally able to ask as to the origin of his boots.
“Those boots look very nice, what animal are they?”
“yes! They are long sexy boots!”
“well – yes theyre lovely, but what animal are they made out of?”
“They sexy boots no?”
“They are rather long.”
And his shit-eating grin.
Right then.
We finally landed at another spot off the side of the street. Where we waited and waited and I acquired two boiled eggs for dinner (I was still being cautious – I can’t help it if I love my bowels, alright?) and waited some more.
And fended off mosquitos (shawls are beautiful beautiful multi-purpose items, never leave home without it).
We did eventually get on a bus. Sometime near 8 that evening. And began the long trek north to Dharashala. The long, bumpy trek.
When you were a kid – did you ever purposefully ride in the back of the schoolbus just to fly up in the air whenever the driver hit a speedbump?
Its like that.
only. for 12 hours.
And I discovered the child in me that loved those old schools buses wen t much of the way of the child that loved those nauseating spinning things at the carnival and that motrin was (much like the shawl) a beautiful beautiful thing .
“It’s okay, no worries, it’s okay! Would you like some chai?”
And there. The bucket of cold water over my head. The magic word.
Chai.
The world could be exploding around you. Hell may be coming to earth, but there is (apparently) always time to sit-
and have some chai.
And so I sat.
and had some chai.
And while I sipped my cares away the gentleman who ran Gurnam tours made a phone call or two, did lots of talking to people in a language I have no way of understanding, but perhaps, someday, would like to. He scribbled a little note, pulled out some cash, handed it to his comrade and shooed me to a rather nice vehicle (where the cushions still happened to be intact).
I had no idea what was going on. I asked, but failed to obtain an adequate response and yet I was being taken by strange men in a rather secure vehicle to some unknown location.
There are some points where you just hope for the best. I suppose it’s called optimism. Let’s pretend anyway.
And in the end I was dropped off on the roadside, left with some motley crue of Australians, a rather muscular Japanese man wearing a face mask, and an older local couple. It was some comfort that I wasn’t alone. We were all apparently waiting for a bus to take us away, but no idea as to where this bus was or when it would arrive. And leading us was a skinny man in cowboy boots (who also happened to receive the money and note from my previous guardian). I spent an hour sitting on the sidewalk staring at these boots wondering what they were made of. Alligator? Snake? Some sort of reptile, surely. The stupidest things occupy your mind sometimes.
A bus did appear eventually, but cowboy boot boy informed us there were no seats to be had and another stop was in order.
An Australian piped up, “And where would that stop be exactly.”
And that hand swirl-wave and boot boy ran off, “come! Come!”
Off we went through the metro (where I was shoved into the armpit of muscular mask-wearing Japanese man – who really did have some appealing definition I must say- and the female half of the older local couple held onto my shirt so that we would not lose one another though I was rather tempted to hold on to her thick braid (think rapunzel – in squat chubby Indian form) and then a caravan of rickshaws through northern Delhi (which led to a fascinating conversation with cowboy boot boy where I was finally able to ask as to the origin of his boots.
“Those boots look very nice, what animal are they?”
“yes! They are long sexy boots!”
“well – yes theyre lovely, but what animal are they made out of?”
“They sexy boots no?”
“They are rather long.”
And his shit-eating grin.
Right then.
We finally landed at another spot off the side of the street. Where we waited and waited and I acquired two boiled eggs for dinner (I was still being cautious – I can’t help it if I love my bowels, alright?) and waited some more.
And fended off mosquitos (shawls are beautiful beautiful multi-purpose items, never leave home without it).
We did eventually get on a bus. Sometime near 8 that evening. And began the long trek north to Dharashala. The long, bumpy trek.
When you were a kid – did you ever purposefully ride in the back of the schoolbus just to fly up in the air whenever the driver hit a speedbump?
Its like that.
only. for 12 hours.
And I discovered the child in me that loved those old schools buses wen t much of the way of the child that loved those nauseating spinning things at the carnival and that motrin was (much like the shawl) a beautiful beautiful thing .
Saturday, November 7, 2009
delhi day 2.
day 2 consisted of 2.5 adventures.
adventure 1
to purchase the train tickets.
in light of the fact that the previous day ended on a somewhat stressful note and i had given up on all of my aims for the day and the sun was already setting. i had to leave this errand for day 2.
and good thing because it took another 2 hours.
getting to the new delhi train station is easy enough via metro.
finding the tourist bureau (which all the guides recommend utilizing) is not terribly difficult. and then sitting down with a customer service agent was proving to work out smoothly.
but the problem was i needed tickets for both myself and my friend.
"Do you have a copy of her passport?"
"Eh - no."
"We need a copy of the passport miss." (I like how one day I'm ma'am and the next I'm miss - i must have looked a little fresher on day 2)
"If i have the number, is that enough? Or is it only a copy?"
"Hm...." he glances at my travel plans, "I can do these trips with the number," as he make little check marks on my already crowded, scribbled on notes.
"Okay, great! Let me just call her!"
"Call her?"
"Yes, to get her passport number. Where is the phone?"
He shrugs.
"Phone? Somewhere? It's a local number, I swear."
"Hm... you can use that over there, possibly."
"Possibly? Eh - right. I'll try, be right back!"
And of course there is no answer or more specifically I'm greeted with "We are sorry, but the number you are calling is not reachable at this time."
Riiight....
Wait five minutes.
Try again - or rather the man behind the counter keeps trying for me because there is some dysfunctional system in which you can only dial when you hear the dial tone, but the dial tone sounds nothing like any dial i've ever known, but there are other sounds which are not actually the dial tone (i know this because i stole the phone from him and tried to use it myself to which he just smiled and looked at me patiently - i know he was laughing inside - in the end of just nudged it back in his direction and read the phone number out loud to him)anyway.
after about 10 minutes of trying the phone. in the end.
just died.
back to square one.
"Is there another phone?"
"Outside."
"Outside?"
more dubious hand circular waving and mumbles.
though he did smile.
and sent me out the door.
a bit of hunting and i came upon the public phone station with a rather friendly attendant.
Tried again. and again. and again.
Evenly spaced intervals.
Not reachable. Not reachable. Not reachable.
Well damn.
I trudge back upstairs to the office. Wait in the queue for my customer service man and sigh as i sit down in defeat.
"I couldn't get the number."
"Hm..."
He then proceeds to look at my travel plans, type into his computer, back and forth, and back and forth for a good 15 minutes.
I have no idea what numbers he is scribbling down, but he has this awfully concentrated look on his face and i have no energy to even inquire.
chai does arrive though.
i love the random little cups of chai that appear.
and finally.
he looks at me and goes, "Hmm..."
"what?"
"I am thinking about your problem."
"And?"
"There is a solution."
"A solution?"
"yes"
"okay? What do I need to do?" (preparing to bribe and counting my money in my head)
"You can go to the reservation centre."
"Huh?"
He then proceeds to tell me that the office I am currently in is tailored for tourists, but the actual reservation center does NOT require passports at all and its just down the street.
However, you have to know all the train numbers, times, etc to know exactly what you are purchasing because they will not help you.
He then proceeds to go through step by step to explain to me exactly what i need to fill out, where on the forms i need to fill it out, and where i need to present it.
i could come to love that man.
and as another chai comes and he is quizzing me on my newfound inner knowledge of train-ticket-purchasing-like-a-local and then proceeds to chat me up.
im so deliriously happy i couldnt care less.
i sat there happily. sipping my chai ever so slowly.
if for no other reason but in gratitude.
one interesting point in our conversation does come up.
i asked him
"if you could travel anywhere, where would you go?"
"to settle or holiday?"
ahh... excellent distinction.
i had never thought of it.
"well, both."
"i would settle in canada, better situation there, but for holiday.... perhaps new zealand."
nice.
adventure .5
after getting my train tickets (which all went incredibly smooth after my intense tutoring) and spending too much time on the internet it was now 3 pm and i had to check in for my bus to dharamshala at 4pm.
so why in the hell did i actually think i had time to run by a tourist site or two?
was i insane?
apparently.
im strolling along wondering where to go for an hour when a rickshaw appears and starts offering all sorts of places.
"how about the red fort?" i inquire.
and off we go.
via pedal.
not only do i showcase my fantastic time management skills, but i pick a pedaling/by foot/human power rickshaw!
and half the ride he is chattering away about gandhi and im only half paying attention - trying to enjoy my examination of delhi.
he is still chattering through alleyways and im still only half paying attention when a boy appears.
now.
im not sure how many bicycle rickshaws you have been in, but they are not particularly fast.
any young thing could jog along and keep up.
hence the boy.
and his sudden questions.
the questions i always get.
and im still only half paying attention.
and then a hand reaches out.
grabs my left breast and he runs off laughing like mad.
what - just - happened ?
um.
what?
GOD wake up woman!
and by this point in time, my rickshaw man is looking around worriedly and the boy is still bloody laughing in the distance and all i can manage is a glare and the finger (which no doubt only made him laugh more) and it takes me a few more minutes to begin wondering (and daydreaming) why i didnt jump the hell off and beat the shit out of him! little punk!
and then i get lost in the daydreaming. it was getting good too.
all sorts of righteous womanly anger.
and then we pull up to the gandhi memorial.
what?
(i was having an attentive afternoon.)
"violence is suicide."
well damn.
"where is the red fort?!"
"just look see miss, look see."
"no! red fort! i have no time!"
(it was now 3:45)
"look see and then we go"
he was already walking in.
god help me.
i follow him in, i glance at a few photos, more brilliant sayings, a few million looms (seriously how many looms did gandhiji have??) and im pulling him out the door.
"we have to go, no time."
"no time?"
"NO time. Red fort, no stop, then metro. Ok?"
"OK miss."
So we make it to the red fort. lovely large.
and red.
he stops to adjust the chain (perhaps the tenth time now) and i hop off to snap a photo - run back to leap on and we're off.
to the metro.
now.
if you ever - ever need to calculate the amount of time it takes to get anything done or go anywhere ive developed a system.
take the amount of time you were thinking of and cube it.
then add 4. or 5. just to be safe.
traffic hit.
and not even the auto kind.
oh no.
we were in another alley.
and stuck in traffic of the cow, cart, bicycle, rickshaw, motorcycle, scooter kind.
seriously not moving. barely a budge.
i was starting to twitch. tapping. wringing my hands.
the bus was going to leave me! ill never get out of this city!
god help me!
"where is the metro?"
"that way miss. straight."
"straight? close?"
"yes miss yes."
"lovely."
i hand him 120 (he meant well - even if he was an accomplice in my sexual harassment - and i could tell he was trying to hurry up after i practically yelled at him outside of the gandhi memorial)
i grab my bags and run.
or try to.
somewhat.
it was now suddenly when my experiences with delhians the past day and half inspired me.
because they shove. and push. and have no concept of queues/lines whatsoever.
for people that take damned near forever to get anything done, they are in an awful lot of hurry all the time.
and so now i pushed.
leaped. shoved. and threw myself in front of moving (though, admittedly slowly) vehicles with no fear for my life (or limbs)
and finally a break away point and i could see the metro sign up ahead.
i swear i ran all the way to that token booth and to the train and from my stop out into the street. i finally showed up to the bus location, out of breath, sweating, dirty, my bags all over the place -
and...
i missed the bus.
by 15 minutes.
it was somehow ON TIME.
what?
WHAT?
india was trying to kill me.
--------------------
tbc... ;)
adventure 1
to purchase the train tickets.
in light of the fact that the previous day ended on a somewhat stressful note and i had given up on all of my aims for the day and the sun was already setting. i had to leave this errand for day 2.
and good thing because it took another 2 hours.
getting to the new delhi train station is easy enough via metro.
finding the tourist bureau (which all the guides recommend utilizing) is not terribly difficult. and then sitting down with a customer service agent was proving to work out smoothly.
but the problem was i needed tickets for both myself and my friend.
"Do you have a copy of her passport?"
"Eh - no."
"We need a copy of the passport miss." (I like how one day I'm ma'am and the next I'm miss - i must have looked a little fresher on day 2)
"If i have the number, is that enough? Or is it only a copy?"
"Hm...." he glances at my travel plans, "I can do these trips with the number," as he make little check marks on my already crowded, scribbled on notes.
"Okay, great! Let me just call her!"
"Call her?"
"Yes, to get her passport number. Where is the phone?"
He shrugs.
"Phone? Somewhere? It's a local number, I swear."
"Hm... you can use that over there, possibly."
"Possibly? Eh - right. I'll try, be right back!"
And of course there is no answer or more specifically I'm greeted with "We are sorry, but the number you are calling is not reachable at this time."
Riiight....
Wait five minutes.
Try again - or rather the man behind the counter keeps trying for me because there is some dysfunctional system in which you can only dial when you hear the dial tone, but the dial tone sounds nothing like any dial i've ever known, but there are other sounds which are not actually the dial tone (i know this because i stole the phone from him and tried to use it myself to which he just smiled and looked at me patiently - i know he was laughing inside - in the end of just nudged it back in his direction and read the phone number out loud to him)anyway.
after about 10 minutes of trying the phone. in the end.
just died.
back to square one.
"Is there another phone?"
"Outside."
"Outside?"
more dubious hand circular waving and mumbles.
though he did smile.
and sent me out the door.
a bit of hunting and i came upon the public phone station with a rather friendly attendant.
Tried again. and again. and again.
Evenly spaced intervals.
Not reachable. Not reachable. Not reachable.
Well damn.
I trudge back upstairs to the office. Wait in the queue for my customer service man and sigh as i sit down in defeat.
"I couldn't get the number."
"Hm..."
He then proceeds to look at my travel plans, type into his computer, back and forth, and back and forth for a good 15 minutes.
I have no idea what numbers he is scribbling down, but he has this awfully concentrated look on his face and i have no energy to even inquire.
chai does arrive though.
i love the random little cups of chai that appear.
and finally.
he looks at me and goes, "Hmm..."
"what?"
"I am thinking about your problem."
"And?"
"There is a solution."
"A solution?"
"yes"
"okay? What do I need to do?" (preparing to bribe and counting my money in my head)
"You can go to the reservation centre."
"Huh?"
He then proceeds to tell me that the office I am currently in is tailored for tourists, but the actual reservation center does NOT require passports at all and its just down the street.
However, you have to know all the train numbers, times, etc to know exactly what you are purchasing because they will not help you.
He then proceeds to go through step by step to explain to me exactly what i need to fill out, where on the forms i need to fill it out, and where i need to present it.
i could come to love that man.
and as another chai comes and he is quizzing me on my newfound inner knowledge of train-ticket-purchasing-like-a-local and then proceeds to chat me up.
im so deliriously happy i couldnt care less.
i sat there happily. sipping my chai ever so slowly.
if for no other reason but in gratitude.
one interesting point in our conversation does come up.
i asked him
"if you could travel anywhere, where would you go?"
"to settle or holiday?"
ahh... excellent distinction.
i had never thought of it.
"well, both."
"i would settle in canada, better situation there, but for holiday.... perhaps new zealand."
nice.
adventure .5
after getting my train tickets (which all went incredibly smooth after my intense tutoring) and spending too much time on the internet it was now 3 pm and i had to check in for my bus to dharamshala at 4pm.
so why in the hell did i actually think i had time to run by a tourist site or two?
was i insane?
apparently.
im strolling along wondering where to go for an hour when a rickshaw appears and starts offering all sorts of places.
"how about the red fort?" i inquire.
and off we go.
via pedal.
not only do i showcase my fantastic time management skills, but i pick a pedaling/by foot/human power rickshaw!
and half the ride he is chattering away about gandhi and im only half paying attention - trying to enjoy my examination of delhi.
he is still chattering through alleyways and im still only half paying attention when a boy appears.
now.
im not sure how many bicycle rickshaws you have been in, but they are not particularly fast.
any young thing could jog along and keep up.
hence the boy.
and his sudden questions.
the questions i always get.
and im still only half paying attention.
and then a hand reaches out.
grabs my left breast and he runs off laughing like mad.
what - just - happened ?
um.
what?
GOD wake up woman!
and by this point in time, my rickshaw man is looking around worriedly and the boy is still bloody laughing in the distance and all i can manage is a glare and the finger (which no doubt only made him laugh more) and it takes me a few more minutes to begin wondering (and daydreaming) why i didnt jump the hell off and beat the shit out of him! little punk!
and then i get lost in the daydreaming. it was getting good too.
all sorts of righteous womanly anger.
and then we pull up to the gandhi memorial.
what?
(i was having an attentive afternoon.)
"violence is suicide."
well damn.
"where is the red fort?!"
"just look see miss, look see."
"no! red fort! i have no time!"
(it was now 3:45)
"look see and then we go"
he was already walking in.
god help me.
i follow him in, i glance at a few photos, more brilliant sayings, a few million looms (seriously how many looms did gandhiji have??) and im pulling him out the door.
"we have to go, no time."
"no time?"
"NO time. Red fort, no stop, then metro. Ok?"
"OK miss."
So we make it to the red fort. lovely large.
and red.
he stops to adjust the chain (perhaps the tenth time now) and i hop off to snap a photo - run back to leap on and we're off.
to the metro.
now.
if you ever - ever need to calculate the amount of time it takes to get anything done or go anywhere ive developed a system.
take the amount of time you were thinking of and cube it.
then add 4. or 5. just to be safe.
traffic hit.
and not even the auto kind.
oh no.
we were in another alley.
and stuck in traffic of the cow, cart, bicycle, rickshaw, motorcycle, scooter kind.
seriously not moving. barely a budge.
i was starting to twitch. tapping. wringing my hands.
the bus was going to leave me! ill never get out of this city!
god help me!
"where is the metro?"
"that way miss. straight."
"straight? close?"
"yes miss yes."
"lovely."
i hand him 120 (he meant well - even if he was an accomplice in my sexual harassment - and i could tell he was trying to hurry up after i practically yelled at him outside of the gandhi memorial)
i grab my bags and run.
or try to.
somewhat.
it was now suddenly when my experiences with delhians the past day and half inspired me.
because they shove. and push. and have no concept of queues/lines whatsoever.
for people that take damned near forever to get anything done, they are in an awful lot of hurry all the time.
and so now i pushed.
leaped. shoved. and threw myself in front of moving (though, admittedly slowly) vehicles with no fear for my life (or limbs)
and finally a break away point and i could see the metro sign up ahead.
i swear i ran all the way to that token booth and to the train and from my stop out into the street. i finally showed up to the bus location, out of breath, sweating, dirty, my bags all over the place -
and...
i missed the bus.
by 15 minutes.
it was somehow ON TIME.
what?
WHAT?
india was trying to kill me.
--------------------
tbc... ;)
Delhi day one does eventually end. somehow.
alright. lets finish this bad boy up.
ah... shopping. generally.
shopping in a country where things a ridiculously cheaper than at home can be a pleasure.
however, for my own piece of mind and in light of the short time frame and my complete lack of desire to barter and haggle and jump all over people.
i went the safe, if a wee bit more expensive, route.
cottage industries.
on janpath, just off connaught circle.
there might be a misspelling in there.
anyway. its ridiculous. treasures on every shelf, in every corner and supposedly from all regions of india.
all stuffed into one building with 3-5 floors.
depending on how you look at it.
think the ending scene of labyrinth. one staircase running into another and then into a wall. or two.
so the goal was to make all my purchases for everyone, pack it all up, then ship it home.
"why?" the lovely people at the pay kiosk ask.
"well because i dont want to carry it everywhere."
"but dont you have luggage?"
a quick gesture to my over the shoulder "luggage" and that ends that.
i have to say though. the entire system is smooth and hassle free.
the higher pricing didnt even phase me.
(i may feel differently when back home and calculating my total spending on this trip)
but you present all the little items you are interested in purchasing and they whisk it away to some mysterious place and then hand you a ticket with said items listed.
at the end of your shopping through all the mini-stores you present all tickets, pay (at a centrally located pay kiosk), and magically your chosen items reappear.
it also forces you to be absolutely sure you want what you pick out.
which, unfortunately goes against my way of shopping - where i like to deliberate for an hour or so on whether this bracelet or that bracelet appeals to me more - but no good here.
you pick. they take away. you pay. then you see it again.
and then its too late.
still. i was happy with it all.
and even particularly when these wonderful people went out of their way to package up all the items safely to ship home. a gentleman even carried my box with me to the post office.
only then the trouble began.
"oh very good ma'am, but you must go to the A-block post office."
"why?"
"because they have a cotton wrapper there ma'am."
"a cotton wrapper?"
"yes yes a block ma'am!"
"but why do i need a cotton wrapper?"
"A-block ma'am! A-block!"
so a rickshaw then. to go around the bloody circle.
as thats all connaught place is. a large circle. within a circle.
it was how i got lost to begin with.
dont ask. that was earlier.
i was onto new troubles now.
box-carrying man refused my money as tip and we parted ways as i climbed into yet another overpriced rickshaw. this one auto.
half a circle later i discover the A-block post office (which looked vaguely familiar) and head on, looking for this cotton wrapping master.
"Outside ma'am. Just outside."
"I didn't see anyone outside."
"Outside ma'am."
a quick step outside, glance in both directions.
still no person looking vaguely like he/she is wrapping packages in cotton.
"There is no one there, can I just send this please?"
"Must be wrapped ma'am, wait a minute, let me see."
and this time we look together.
he wanders over to a woman in a postcard kiosk to inquire.
"Ah! he went to the bank ma'am, he will return in 5 minutes. wait here."
pointing to stool in a questionable looking corner.
"Right, 5 minutes, thank you."
and 5 minutes turned into an hour and a half.
i'm not kidding.
and it was here, in the midst of my exhaustion, following a long flight (or two), lack of sleep, day-long confusion and just plain bewilderment as to why a perfectly intact box must be wrapped in bloody cotton that i started to break down.
i gave up and even leaned against the god-only knows-what-was-on-that-wall because i was falling asleep standing up.
in my more lucid moments i was pleading with the post office man if i could just wrap the damned thing myself?! where was the cotton!? i can sew damn it! give it here!
he wasn't best pleased with me.
and then finally.
the cotton man appeared. he took my package and began working his apparently one of a kind magic. he then asks if ive filled out the customs forms.
"no! no, i havent! i will right away! be right back! dont go away! i'll be right back! thank you!"
so i dash into the post office to locate these forms and fill them in a hurry.
and step outside to hand them over.
and he's gone.
and my package is sitting upon the stool, half done, like a baby in a loose diaper.
WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK!?
in hindsight. i realize i was getting a bit hysterical.
and this was a busy street. and people were looking at me like i was a bit hysterical. i had my notebook and forms in hand and started hitting my forehead in frustration. and groaning. and cursing. and a few other things im now somewhat embarrassed about. (we just wont discuss them)
but i was ready to kill.
ill skip to the end.
eventually my package was completed. sent. with glue.
as in proper gooey glue.
how else does one attach a customs form to cotton?
(in case you were wondering)
the cotton man charged me 150 rupees (think a wee bit over $3.00 and it took all of my restraint to hand that money over and not hiss at him - particularly when it took all of 5 minutes to do, but 2 B---- F---- hours of waiting time)
the post office charged me 1600-something
and i just wanted to go to sleep.
another hour back to my dwelling for the night.
and god bless the world.
another day complete.
good night.
ah... shopping. generally.
shopping in a country where things a ridiculously cheaper than at home can be a pleasure.
however, for my own piece of mind and in light of the short time frame and my complete lack of desire to barter and haggle and jump all over people.
i went the safe, if a wee bit more expensive, route.
cottage industries.
on janpath, just off connaught circle.
there might be a misspelling in there.
anyway. its ridiculous. treasures on every shelf, in every corner and supposedly from all regions of india.
all stuffed into one building with 3-5 floors.
depending on how you look at it.
think the ending scene of labyrinth. one staircase running into another and then into a wall. or two.
so the goal was to make all my purchases for everyone, pack it all up, then ship it home.
"why?" the lovely people at the pay kiosk ask.
"well because i dont want to carry it everywhere."
"but dont you have luggage?"
a quick gesture to my over the shoulder "luggage" and that ends that.
i have to say though. the entire system is smooth and hassle free.
the higher pricing didnt even phase me.
(i may feel differently when back home and calculating my total spending on this trip)
but you present all the little items you are interested in purchasing and they whisk it away to some mysterious place and then hand you a ticket with said items listed.
at the end of your shopping through all the mini-stores you present all tickets, pay (at a centrally located pay kiosk), and magically your chosen items reappear.
it also forces you to be absolutely sure you want what you pick out.
which, unfortunately goes against my way of shopping - where i like to deliberate for an hour or so on whether this bracelet or that bracelet appeals to me more - but no good here.
you pick. they take away. you pay. then you see it again.
and then its too late.
still. i was happy with it all.
and even particularly when these wonderful people went out of their way to package up all the items safely to ship home. a gentleman even carried my box with me to the post office.
only then the trouble began.
"oh very good ma'am, but you must go to the A-block post office."
"why?"
"because they have a cotton wrapper there ma'am."
"a cotton wrapper?"
"yes yes a block ma'am!"
"but why do i need a cotton wrapper?"
"A-block ma'am! A-block!"
so a rickshaw then. to go around the bloody circle.
as thats all connaught place is. a large circle. within a circle.
it was how i got lost to begin with.
dont ask. that was earlier.
i was onto new troubles now.
box-carrying man refused my money as tip and we parted ways as i climbed into yet another overpriced rickshaw. this one auto.
half a circle later i discover the A-block post office (which looked vaguely familiar) and head on, looking for this cotton wrapping master.
"Outside ma'am. Just outside."
"I didn't see anyone outside."
"Outside ma'am."
a quick step outside, glance in both directions.
still no person looking vaguely like he/she is wrapping packages in cotton.
"There is no one there, can I just send this please?"
"Must be wrapped ma'am, wait a minute, let me see."
and this time we look together.
he wanders over to a woman in a postcard kiosk to inquire.
"Ah! he went to the bank ma'am, he will return in 5 minutes. wait here."
pointing to stool in a questionable looking corner.
"Right, 5 minutes, thank you."
and 5 minutes turned into an hour and a half.
i'm not kidding.
and it was here, in the midst of my exhaustion, following a long flight (or two), lack of sleep, day-long confusion and just plain bewilderment as to why a perfectly intact box must be wrapped in bloody cotton that i started to break down.
i gave up and even leaned against the god-only knows-what-was-on-that-wall because i was falling asleep standing up.
in my more lucid moments i was pleading with the post office man if i could just wrap the damned thing myself?! where was the cotton!? i can sew damn it! give it here!
he wasn't best pleased with me.
and then finally.
the cotton man appeared. he took my package and began working his apparently one of a kind magic. he then asks if ive filled out the customs forms.
"no! no, i havent! i will right away! be right back! dont go away! i'll be right back! thank you!"
so i dash into the post office to locate these forms and fill them in a hurry.
and step outside to hand them over.
and he's gone.
and my package is sitting upon the stool, half done, like a baby in a loose diaper.
WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK!?
in hindsight. i realize i was getting a bit hysterical.
and this was a busy street. and people were looking at me like i was a bit hysterical. i had my notebook and forms in hand and started hitting my forehead in frustration. and groaning. and cursing. and a few other things im now somewhat embarrassed about. (we just wont discuss them)
but i was ready to kill.
ill skip to the end.
eventually my package was completed. sent. with glue.
as in proper gooey glue.
how else does one attach a customs form to cotton?
(in case you were wondering)
the cotton man charged me 150 rupees (think a wee bit over $3.00 and it took all of my restraint to hand that money over and not hiss at him - particularly when it took all of 5 minutes to do, but 2 B---- F---- hours of waiting time)
the post office charged me 1600-something
and i just wanted to go to sleep.
another hour back to my dwelling for the night.
and god bless the world.
another day complete.
good night.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Delhi day one continued...
alright. here we go again.
where did i leave off?
no time to go back and look so i will do my best.
now. before i go into the highlights of my morning i must share a small background note. upon arriving at the home of my host the day before i was privy to a mini tour of her home. including.
the shitpot.
"the what?"
"shitpot, you know, its right in there - i really don't like the traditional indian toilets and i dont know many westerners who like them either so please, if you would feel more comfortable, use the shitpot.'
oh wow.
now. the morning after. a lovely breakfast of more oats and curd and bathing via deliciously hot water and bucket (i've been developing a fondness for bucket baths) and the need to poop made itself known.
finally.
the moment i was waiting for.
"R---, may i please use your shitpot?"
no words could ever encompass the glee i felt in that moment.
seriously.
moving on. attempting to get directions from every single person i have asked here is proving to be a challenge. i get general hand waves, mumbles, and vague circular motions. and thats at best with english speakers.
it seems i must learn hindi as well.
finding the metro stop (even with somewhat useless directions from my host) was a journey but when all fails, grab a rickshaw and tell them where you need to go.
pay close attention.
and the next time it will be easy :)
discovered the wonders of delhi's new metro where, it seems, they scan every single person that wants to use it. meaning, a magtron, a handwand, and a xray belt for parcels, bags, etc.
its also divided between men and women - to keep things proper apparently.
and if it wasnt for the lovely assistance of security woman i would have spent half the morning attempting to figure out just how to get past the gate and up to the platform (press the token to the pad and magically the pathway opens!)
it took a very very long hour from dwarka sector 11 to ranjiv - a central location of the city. but i had ever so fascinating thoughts to occupy my mind.
1) belly exposure
and
2) smoky skies
lets start with the sky.
i had been informed by my host of some massive fire that took places some days ago and could possibly have contributed to the smoke scent that assaulted me when getting off the plane. however. when you have an entire hour to stare at the delhi skyline and hence the delhi sky, i couldnt help but think that whatever fire this was it must have burnt an entire city down. endless haze. anywhere you look.
pollution/smog/smoke - whatever.
if you dont think too hard about it its a never ending sunrise. that blur of early morning.
a pause button to make the day a little more beautiful.
that is - until the sun nears it peak and you wonder what the hell you're breathing.
bellies.
now. there are certainly some american women who have no qualms about their protruding bellies (and not of the pregnant kind) and wander about fully exposed. im not discussing them.
what i was so enchanted by was a woman who shared metro space with me, for nearly the entire hour, squished against the windows we were - in saree garb (and looked lovely mind you) but with a belly. an attractive tall woman with a curvy figure.
and an exposed belly.
that most women in the united states would rather die an excruciating death than expose.
i found it interesting.
and she was the first of many.
(some not so attractive, with perhaps a little curve shall we say)
could you imagine?
i think we ought to start a movement.
some saree therapy program.
where women are allowed to love themselves and feel at home in their folds.
'this is all me! in a saree! and im lovely!'
what do you think?
fast forward.
though in summary - upon landing.
the next couple hours included being approached by 4 different men, all attempting to either chat me up and/or lead me to some shady tourist office. getting lost in the absolute chaos that is delhi and attempting to make sense of more questionable direction giving by my beloved host country. the 2 most enlightening moment being -
shady tourist man number 1.
when presenting me with the price of a ticket to dharamshala i respond with my standard:
"thank you for the information, i will think about it."
but he, by far, has given me the best damned response ive ever heard.
"think? why think? thinking is bad for you! you're on vacation, you dont need to think!"
so thats what ive been doing wrong all these years?
boy number 3. the chat me up boy.
he was chattering away when i stopped suddenly to buy a sprite.
20 rupees im told. thats less than fifty cents - no big deal.
im sipping away and he looks edgy.
'you know, if i bought that, it would only be 10 rupees.'
'oh?'
'yes. youre a tourist, thats why they charge you more.'
i could only laugh.
where did i leave off?
no time to go back and look so i will do my best.
now. before i go into the highlights of my morning i must share a small background note. upon arriving at the home of my host the day before i was privy to a mini tour of her home. including.
the shitpot.
"the what?"
"shitpot, you know, its right in there - i really don't like the traditional indian toilets and i dont know many westerners who like them either so please, if you would feel more comfortable, use the shitpot.'
oh wow.
now. the morning after. a lovely breakfast of more oats and curd and bathing via deliciously hot water and bucket (i've been developing a fondness for bucket baths) and the need to poop made itself known.
finally.
the moment i was waiting for.
"R---, may i please use your shitpot?"
no words could ever encompass the glee i felt in that moment.
seriously.
moving on. attempting to get directions from every single person i have asked here is proving to be a challenge. i get general hand waves, mumbles, and vague circular motions. and thats at best with english speakers.
it seems i must learn hindi as well.
finding the metro stop (even with somewhat useless directions from my host) was a journey but when all fails, grab a rickshaw and tell them where you need to go.
pay close attention.
and the next time it will be easy :)
discovered the wonders of delhi's new metro where, it seems, they scan every single person that wants to use it. meaning, a magtron, a handwand, and a xray belt for parcels, bags, etc.
its also divided between men and women - to keep things proper apparently.
and if it wasnt for the lovely assistance of security woman i would have spent half the morning attempting to figure out just how to get past the gate and up to the platform (press the token to the pad and magically the pathway opens!)
it took a very very long hour from dwarka sector 11 to ranjiv - a central location of the city. but i had ever so fascinating thoughts to occupy my mind.
1) belly exposure
and
2) smoky skies
lets start with the sky.
i had been informed by my host of some massive fire that took places some days ago and could possibly have contributed to the smoke scent that assaulted me when getting off the plane. however. when you have an entire hour to stare at the delhi skyline and hence the delhi sky, i couldnt help but think that whatever fire this was it must have burnt an entire city down. endless haze. anywhere you look.
pollution/smog/smoke - whatever.
if you dont think too hard about it its a never ending sunrise. that blur of early morning.
a pause button to make the day a little more beautiful.
that is - until the sun nears it peak and you wonder what the hell you're breathing.
bellies.
now. there are certainly some american women who have no qualms about their protruding bellies (and not of the pregnant kind) and wander about fully exposed. im not discussing them.
what i was so enchanted by was a woman who shared metro space with me, for nearly the entire hour, squished against the windows we were - in saree garb (and looked lovely mind you) but with a belly. an attractive tall woman with a curvy figure.
and an exposed belly.
that most women in the united states would rather die an excruciating death than expose.
i found it interesting.
and she was the first of many.
(some not so attractive, with perhaps a little curve shall we say)
could you imagine?
i think we ought to start a movement.
some saree therapy program.
where women are allowed to love themselves and feel at home in their folds.
'this is all me! in a saree! and im lovely!'
what do you think?
fast forward.
though in summary - upon landing.
the next couple hours included being approached by 4 different men, all attempting to either chat me up and/or lead me to some shady tourist office. getting lost in the absolute chaos that is delhi and attempting to make sense of more questionable direction giving by my beloved host country. the 2 most enlightening moment being -
shady tourist man number 1.
when presenting me with the price of a ticket to dharamshala i respond with my standard:
"thank you for the information, i will think about it."
but he, by far, has given me the best damned response ive ever heard.
"think? why think? thinking is bad for you! you're on vacation, you dont need to think!"
so thats what ive been doing wrong all these years?
boy number 3. the chat me up boy.
he was chattering away when i stopped suddenly to buy a sprite.
20 rupees im told. thats less than fifty cents - no big deal.
im sipping away and he looks edgy.
'you know, if i bought that, it would only be 10 rupees.'
'oh?'
'yes. youre a tourist, thats why they charge you more.'
i could only laugh.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
India begins. part 1.
By the time we were notified of our "descent" into the Indira Gandhi airport the apprehension in me, admittedly, outweighed any level of excitement.
Try considering everything you had ever heard of India. Everything.
It's not possible to process it neatly. Not that any country anywhere in the world is so simple to comprehend, to make sense of, but I do believe that India in particular has a massive hold on the imagination. That anything and everything is possible. Or is made so.
So I was a little afraid, and, among others, there was the more mundane fear specific to entering alien lands. What obstacles will I come up against?
In this is actually the kernel of my travel addiction.
Some people like skydiving. Some people need to change careers.
Me? I need to throw myself among peoples who speak and live differently than myself.
To see what madness I'll end up in and come out alive.
Even if all I have managed is buying a train ticket.
And so, after my second sunrise above the clouds in 19 hours we landed and there was no turning back. A hazy sky was my first sight of India.
My first scent was smoke; something, somewhere, was burning.
MY first true sound of India was this little bird, brown, unexciting, but twittering away in the large dome ceiling above the immigration lobby as my passport was inspected.
My first touch in India were the rupees at the exchange window. As I have since been here a day and half and have parted with a fair amount of money I must say I was possibly handed the cleanest, stiffest, and brightest rupees India had.
Just for me I'm sure.
And my first taste (and this I had been most looking forward to) was a dish not even precisely Indian, but rather an invention of my host made of "oats and curd, you know! oats and curd! but you make your oats with water in america, don't you?"
there were indeed oats and curd, and peanuts, and salt, and some green leafy thing, and a few other tidbits I'm still unaware of, but really tasted rather good.
In the end, that is the most important thing.
Oh, and chai of course.
Though, after being handed a fragile cup of milky spiced goodness I was missing Starbucks 20 oz proportions.
(Dear host, please forgive the American-ness in me)
Still, I was licking my lips and cherishing that first taste.
I was not in tourist mode this day. Not truly. I had no desire to run and see museums, or tombs, or old temples (or even new temples).
My goals for the day were two things:
1) shopping and shipping it home
2) bus and train ticket purchases
i managed 2 out of three and that i managed anything at all is a miracle.
i say this not to be bitchy.
(or what i am about to go on about.)
if there are hints of frustration, irritation, and screaming fits of rage (in my head anyway) it is not a statement of india but simply my response to it.
obviously influenced by what i am used to.
the definition of efficiency is open to interpretation.
so is sanity.
will continue tomorrow.
i have an hour left in delhi on day 2.
perhaps i should do something touristy?
Try considering everything you had ever heard of India. Everything.
It's not possible to process it neatly. Not that any country anywhere in the world is so simple to comprehend, to make sense of, but I do believe that India in particular has a massive hold on the imagination. That anything and everything is possible. Or is made so.
So I was a little afraid, and, among others, there was the more mundane fear specific to entering alien lands. What obstacles will I come up against?
In this is actually the kernel of my travel addiction.
Some people like skydiving. Some people need to change careers.
Me? I need to throw myself among peoples who speak and live differently than myself.
To see what madness I'll end up in and come out alive.
Even if all I have managed is buying a train ticket.
And so, after my second sunrise above the clouds in 19 hours we landed and there was no turning back. A hazy sky was my first sight of India.
My first scent was smoke; something, somewhere, was burning.
MY first true sound of India was this little bird, brown, unexciting, but twittering away in the large dome ceiling above the immigration lobby as my passport was inspected.
My first touch in India were the rupees at the exchange window. As I have since been here a day and half and have parted with a fair amount of money I must say I was possibly handed the cleanest, stiffest, and brightest rupees India had.
Just for me I'm sure.
And my first taste (and this I had been most looking forward to) was a dish not even precisely Indian, but rather an invention of my host made of "oats and curd, you know! oats and curd! but you make your oats with water in america, don't you?"
there were indeed oats and curd, and peanuts, and salt, and some green leafy thing, and a few other tidbits I'm still unaware of, but really tasted rather good.
In the end, that is the most important thing.
Oh, and chai of course.
Though, after being handed a fragile cup of milky spiced goodness I was missing Starbucks 20 oz proportions.
(Dear host, please forgive the American-ness in me)
Still, I was licking my lips and cherishing that first taste.
I was not in tourist mode this day. Not truly. I had no desire to run and see museums, or tombs, or old temples (or even new temples).
My goals for the day were two things:
1) shopping and shipping it home
2) bus and train ticket purchases
i managed 2 out of three and that i managed anything at all is a miracle.
i say this not to be bitchy.
(or what i am about to go on about.)
if there are hints of frustration, irritation, and screaming fits of rage (in my head anyway) it is not a statement of india but simply my response to it.
obviously influenced by what i am used to.
the definition of efficiency is open to interpretation.
so is sanity.
will continue tomorrow.
i have an hour left in delhi on day 2.
perhaps i should do something touristy?
helsinki in 9 hours or less.
be aware that i began scribbling this in my notebook while actually still in helsinki and awaiting the Finnair City Bus to take me back to the airport - its now two days later and im sitting in an internet spot somewhere by a very different train station -New Delhi to be exact - and about 60 degrees (F) warmer - or should i say hotter?
i also apologize for typos, etc.
time constraint, etc. etc.
---------------------------------------
let me begin by saying that Finnair provides the best damn flight blankie ive ever been warmed by. i have it snug around my shoulders as i sip my glogi (look it up) in the Coffee House (as in titled Coffee House - in case it was questionable) by the helsinki train station. it's a bright lime green fuzzy mess of a blanket - though despite its virtues (all about the lime) my toes still happen to be frozen.
this is possibly due to the 2 degrees centigrade temp.
and damn.
glogi is good.
they tell me its a holiday drink that can also be made with alcohol (finland possibly excels at this)and i fully intend to look up the recipe the moment i return home. i asked what is was made of- expecting some berry of some sort - but in response all i got was 'red'.
ah. i must learn finnish then.
let me return to the blanket because it matters - dont question me. how often have you sat in a plane freezing? and for 8 hours no less? even 1 is torture.
as always its the little things that matter.
and a flight attendant stomping around in combat boots and punk hair.
i love finland.
upon landing i spritzed a little chanel no. 5 at the duty free shop (along with brushing my teeth i now felt "freshened up"), nearly screamed in shock and fear from the cloth towel dryer dispenser thing in finnish public restrooms, and ransacked the tourist information booth in retaliation. no wait. thats a lie. i would have ransacked it anyway. i have this horrible habit of grabbing every single map, brochure, and guide book in sight.
expecting that i will actually make use of them all or have time to do everything.
in 12 hours of course. or rather 9. theres that showing up to the airport 3 hours early business.
dont ask me about the dryer.
its startling. and youve been warned.
thats all i have to say.
actually getting into the city center was easy. there are not, one, but two buses that leave directly from the airport - one that takes credit card.
my entire day in helsinki and i never had to exchange money for euros.
by the way - exchanging american dollars for a stronger currency is mildly depressing.
yes im aware thats a somewhat arrogant statement.
it still hurts damnit!
now it wasnt until i got off the bus across from the train station that i realized i was freezing.
in my defense it was 2 am in my head - not 9.
i was wearing every article of clothing i taken for this trip.
this being:
two tank tops
one thin sweater
one t-shirt
one long sleeved shirt (which happened to be made in india - i liked the idea of returning it to its homeland)
one pair of danskin skin tight pants
one pair of cargos
all this on and i might as well have been naked standing against wherever that bloody wind was blowing from.
i had a shawl, a cotton sleepsac, and a stolen airline blankie still at my disposal.
wrapping one piece of cloth around you (and keeping it secure) is not difficult
but try three
and tell me how you do.
even better - take pictures.
we can compare styles.
i think throughout the day i managed to look hindu, nunnish, muslim, and like a sahara nomad.
and 4 months pregant (there are the layers and money pouch to consider).
i did catch a few smiles when the more sensibly dressed helsinkians looked my way.
(possibly the most eh - embarressing- was when they recognized that lime green blankie...)
no matter!
i was warm...
enough.
oh and socks for mittens.
works in a pinch.
mine were blue.
well. two different shades of blue.
and there went my last drop of glogi.
sigh.
what was i saying?
ah.
so there i was.
finally.
all wrapped up - and no place to go?
dont be silly!
i had a dozen guides and maps to direct me.
so i chose the winter garden.
sounded lovely.
made my way around the toolonlanti - or is it toloviken?
one of those. ill have to look it up and edit as needed when home.
whatever. a mini lake. (speaking of which finland is full of holes. seriously. look at it one day. look at it closely.
im curious of the land mass to water ratio.)
the highlights of which were the swans and a tiny super blond child (that blinding sort of blond?) in a puffed up pink creation that looked far warmer than my outfit.
the width of which possibly equalled her height.
she waved at me.
and again.
and again.
every few seconds turning away from her mother to wave again.
before disappearing around some tired berry bushes.
i wanted to get up and follow her.
just for that little wave or few.
but arrested for stalking or chld abduction was not the way to begin a trip.
so i carried on. only to find the winter garden apparently not open this winter.
winding my way back around the other side of the mini lake and passing through a neighborhood of old, brightly colored, wooden houses (the trim on them were particularly lovely) and made my way to the market square. well almost.
i was distracted by another tourist office.
though found that i already had all their brochures.
but their heating system was excellent.
and she did direct me to a cute spot for lunch by senate square (cafe engel) where i paid entirely too much for a tomato and mozarella sandwich.
it was tasty however. and the coffee was happiness.
from there i made it over to... oh what was it called.
upsinki? something like that.
again. will look up later.
cathedral.
which i personally found to be far more interesting than the cathedral in senate square (somewhere i read that the senate square one is the most photographed building of finland and yet i have no idea why when this other is far more attractive but whatever) - came across a recently married couple who were posing every which way.
in between "takes" the new husband wrapped a thick coat about his wife and squeezed her tight - often and long enough that you could tell the photographer was getting irritated.
but my stalking instinct was kicking in again and i knew i had to get away before i really did end up in trouble.
this particular cathedral is apparently the largest orthodox religious facitility in europe.
i might be wrong.
important information gets horrible confused in my head.
or supposedly important.
but i do know finland was previously a russian autonamous grand duchy!
however, what that means exactly is unclear.
i recommend google.
and post cathedral there were markets.
where i oohed and aahed over furs, assorted fish preparations, and bear pate.
have i mentioned i love finland?
ive yet to try it, but i assure you there is some bear pate just waiting for me when i swing back through on my way home.
and so here i am.
in Coffee House and staring at an empty glass that once held a hot delicious red drink.
wondering if my toes will ever forgive me.
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